


Chemicals

by x119



Category: Versailles (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Crack, Drug Use, Humor, M/M, most of these are really old but never posted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 15:17:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12773772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x119/pseuds/x119
Summary: A collection of ficlets about Versailles and their vices. Mostly crack. Not in any real order.





	1. Bathtub

"There's something wrong with you," Hizaki said, the slow, flat tone of his voice reverberating off the bathroom walls as a halo of smoke loomed over his head. Kamijo added to the cloud, exhaling through his nose while he smirked at Hizaki's offbeat comment. The little blonde hadn't even spoken for what seemed like hours until now. But he should have expected it; that's the way he always was when they had their bathroom days.

"Me? You're the one who insists on hot boxing my bathroom every weekend," Kamijo replied, twirling his little glass pipe between his fingers. Hizaki said nothing, but placed his head against the tiles in the bathtub, his bare feet and half exposed legs stuck to the clean white surface while he tried to move, and the sound of skin peeling off plastic made him smile. Sliding further down into the tub with one of Kamijo's old shirts gathering around his neck, he stared at the roof, contemplating the water stains above and what they could possibly mean. 

"Yeah, and then all you do is sit there and stare at things and eat my food," Kamijo added, bringing the glass tube to his lips and lighting what was inside. Inhaling deeply, he watched Hizaki across the room, tapping on the bathtub with his fingernails. It was oddly mesmerizing. He struggled to stop breathing, to hold the smoke in for as long as he could, but he had never been very good at it. At least, not as good as Hizaki was. He exhaled sharply and coughed, his new smoke cloud filling the already extremely hazy bathroom. He inhaled a couple more times, all the while watching Hizaki's staring contest with the ceiling. 

He felt pleasantly mellow to begin with; after all, he'd been sitting in a tiny bathroom filled with Hizaki's leftover smoke for hours now, but now he was starting to feel his own drug kick in. The sound of his lighter clattering to the bathroom floor as his hands began to shake seemed like it was amplified a thousand times, though when he turned to look at Hizaki, he hadn't even noticed. He almost looked like he was asleep. 

Twitching, he made his way to the bathtub, and Hizaki slowly turned his head to face him. His eyes were as red as ever and he was smiling dumbly, reaching out to Kamijo with one floppy hand.

They always ended up being such opposites on bathroom day. Hizaki was always tired, rarely spoke, could sit still for hours and just stare and think. Kamijo felt like he could do a million things at once, couldn't sit still, and above all else, wanted to do anything and everything to that little blonde guitarist of his.

Hizaki was always complacent at first, but he was never boring. Sure, he may have seemed somewhat useless when all he did was sit on the bathroom floor and go through an entire box of Oreos in one sitting, but if Kamijo could get him going, it really was worth it. Now, they were just looking at each other, Hizaki's hand resting in Kamijo's as he leaned on the bathtub wall that separated them. 

"You should come in," Hizaki said playfully, slowly tapping the bathtub wall with his spare hand. "It's very nice."

"Well, it's nice wherever you are," Kamijo said, gazing at Hizaki's face, his vision blurring in and out. His fingers shook on the porcelain surface as he pulled himself over the edge of the tub, settling in the space between Hizaki's pale legs. 

Hizaki had always told him that this was when he felt the best, simply because he could never feel a thing. He couldn't feel his lips, even when Kamijo was kissing him like a madman; couldn't feel his fingers, even when they were entwined in Kamijo's hair and in the fabric of his shirt; couldn't feel his legs even when they were tightly locked around Kamijo's hips. 

Even now, everything was numb, almost like slow motion. Kamijo was above him, their faces mere inches apart, smoky breath invading each other's mouths while they were pressed together. His bare skin rubbed against the plastic as Kamijo pushed him forward, but he couldn't feel the pain. Slowly, he moved his arms, anchoring himself around Kamijo's neck. He'd be here for a while, and he's have the marks to prove it. Frankly, he didn't even care about being fucked in a bathtub. It had become totally normal for him. At least, it was normal when he was so baked that he couldn't feel his own tongue. 

Kamijo smirked at the dead look on Hizaki's face. At times like this, he was so passive about everything that he probably could've thrown him out of his apartment window and it wouldn't have fazed him. He just would've asked for pizza after. Laughing to himself, he kissed Hizaki with trembling lips, shaking hands roaming the guitarist's small body. He ripped the buttons off that old shirt, nearly broke his own belt, and tore some item of clothing that probably didn't matter much, but he couldn't tell. He barely knew what he was looking at anymore. 

He could never feel this amazing when he was sober, could never feel this confident, could never feel this alive; even if he knew it was killing him. If this was what dying felt like, he didn't want to live.

So much of life leads up to the simplest moment, the moment that he hungered for the most of all moments. That moment when all he knew was this feeling, and Hizaki, and how much he loved him. That moment when he couldn't hold back, and he had to have it all, and he knew he could take it. That moment when Hizaki screamed his name, and his fingers went down hard into the back of his neck, and the echoes of his frantic moaning finally pushed Kamijo over the edge.

He collapsed on top of Hizaki, their ragged, heavy breathing amplified inside the bath tub. They watched each other, Kamijo's eyes not being able to stay in one place while Hizaki's were red and brimmed with tears of something he couldn't readily define. Hizaki smiled weakly and gave Kamijo a faint kiss, giggling to himself.

"I want us to be like this forever," he said, finally focusing his attention on something that wasn't the ceiling. Kamijo met his gaze and smiled, pushing back Hizaki's matted bangs and kissing him on the forehead.

Everything was perfect here, in this moment, however unconventional it may have been. But that was they way they worked, and the way they liked it best. Nothing could compare to bathroom day. 

"We will be," Kamijo said, a wide grin on his face, pulling Hizaki into a tight embrace. "At least until the smoke detector goes off."


	2. Accidental Baby Acquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old request from tumblr

            Hizaki was having a perfect day: feet propped up on the coffee table, window open to let in the warm summer air, a fat blunt in one hand and a half-eaten egg salad sandwich in the other. At least, it would have been perfect had Kamijo not burst through the door crotch first with a screeching lump in his arms.

            “I found a baby!” He screamed upon entering, momentarily masking the sound of the baby’s cries. “This is going to be the best day ever!”

            “Wh…what?” Hizaki finally managed to spit out as Kamijo paraded around the room with the baby in his outstretched arms. “Where the hell did you get that?”

            “I just found it, okay?!” Kamijo screeched, his eyes narrowing in an intense rage that only lasted a moment. His eye twitched once or twice before a wide smile appeared on his face.

            “Yeah, but-”

            “You must take it!” Kamijo thrust the screaming bundle of cloth into Hizaki’s arms before clumsily skipping his way across the room. “I have some serious work to do! Don’t disturb me!”

            Hizaki watched with dissatisfaction as Kamijo sat down in front of the opposite wall (which was already covered in crayon scribbles about how he was actually a vampire prince and would bring about the destruction of the earth) and tore a pack of crayons off the carpet next to him, beginning to draw crude stick figures of himself with a cape on.

            “We need to figure out a way to calm this thing down,” Hizaki remarked, eyeing the baby with disgust as he turned it over in his hands. His sandwich lay abandoned on the floor, which he was certainly not happy about.

            “Kamijo?” But the other man didn’t respond; he was now adding spaceships of various sizes to his mural.

            “Man…” Hizaki sighed, shaking his head in confusion. What was he supposed to do? What was anyone supposed to do? What was the point of a baby, anyway? Aren’t they just the weirdest things? Why am I even here? Where am I, huh?

            After pondering these important questions for what seemed like thirty minutes, but was, in fact, only five, Hizaki was harshly brought back to reality as his joint had burnt down to his fingers. He dropped it with a painful moan, nearly dropping the baby as he tried to recover the roach.

            He grasped what was left of his joint, his eyes darting between the baby in one hand at the roach in the other, almost as if his subconscious was trying to push him towards a stunning revelation.

             Upon discovering it, Hizaki gasped with delight. He rose from his chair and placed the baby in his spot, grabbing a new joint from the stash in his back pocket. He clumsily attempted to give it to the baby, but that little shit didn’t seem to want to hold onto anything.

            “This fucker can’t even hold a joint,” Hizaki remarked to no one in particular, as he knew Kamijo wouldn’t be listening. “What did you do to this baby…”

            After several more unsuccessful attempts, Hizaki reached over and placed the joint between the baby’s lips, hoping it would stay there long enough for him to light it. He fished his lighter off the table and got the flame going after a few clumsy tries, taking it to the joint and setting it aflame.

            Satisfied, Hizaki sat down on the floor in front of the baby, reaching out for his fallen sandwich. However, before he could have a celebratory snack, the lit joint fell out of the baby’s mouth and onto his open hand.

            “Okay, that is it,” Hizaki said exasperatedly, his burnt hand bunching into a fist and coming down hard on the side of the baby’s chair. “You are such a bad houseguest!”

            “Kamijo! Do something about this!” Hizaki shrieked as he rose from the floor, his arms waving around dramatically as he stomped his feet beside where the baby sat. “This fucker is up to no good! It fuckin’ sucks! Get rid of it!”

            Once again, Kamijo did not respond, far too engrossed in drawing himself as the world’s ruler; he would much rather live in his fantasy world than have to listen to Hizaki’s demands any day. Frustrated, the guitarist suddenly grabbed the baby by the back of the head, hurling it across the room. It landed against Kamijo’s masterpiece with a hollow thud, finally breaking the vocalist’s concentration.

            “Did you just throw a fucking baby at me?” Kamijo growled, snapping his favourite crayon in half in his blind rage. “We don’t use children as projectiles in this house!”

            “Then pay attention to me!” Hizaki whined, accidentally stomping on his sandwich in the chaos. He let out a long, loud scream, nearly bursting Kamijo’s eardrums in the process.

             Kamijo had had enough of this shit; he grabbed the still baby from the floor and skipped to the window, throwing the bundle outside with both hands. He gave Hizaki a hard stare, not even blinking as the splat of a baby hitting concrete sounded outside. Neither of them spoke as Kamijo skipped back to his drawings, leaving Hizaki with a crushed sandwich and a crushed soul to match.

            Hoping he could clean up the remains before anyone else saw what they had done, Hizaki bolted out the door, nearly jumping down several flights of stairs until he reached the concrete parking lot below. A mess of blankets lay in the middle of the parking lot, though Hizaki couldn’t see the damage from where he stood.

            Hesitantly, he approached the blankets, wishing he still had that extra joint with him. If there was ever a good time to be really stoned, it would definitely have to be when you were about to discover the dead body of a child your bandmate kidnapped and subsequently threw out a window.

            Hizaki kicked the pile of blankets and prepared for the worst, but he couldn’t have been more surprised. The baby lay in the middle of the chaos, perfectly unharmed, though it was no longer crying. All it was doing was staring up into space, its knees and arms slightly bent, lips parted in a meaningless expression.

            “This isn’t even a real baby!” He screamed in conclusion, both with intense frustration and relief. He swung out a leg and kicked it across the parking lot in celebration. “It’s plastic! It’s a doll! It’s a fucking doll! You fucking idiot!”

            Several minutes later, Yuki walked through the same parking lot, looking on with dismay as he saw Hizaki laughing hysterically on the concrete, bundled up in a baby’s blanket. Strangely enough, this wasn’t an atypical sight. He slowly shook his head, letting out an aggravated sigh.

            “I’m not drunk enough for this…”


	3. Space

            It took mere moments for the three of them to slip away. Hizaki had ended up in some sort of tangled mess between Yuki and Masashi as they each stared upwards at the white bed sheets hanging over their heads, mesmerized by the blank slate and all that it could entail. The bland colour became beautiful, lifelike; something akin to stars at one moment and akin to nothing more than dust the next. It moved, it breathed, it _knew_.

            In this moment, everything became clear. Though nothing really made logical sense, the three parties all implicitly understood it. They could almost see their thoughts moving through space, entering each other, all becoming one, collecting into the top of the tent that had now became somewhat like a galaxy swimming with questions and contradictions. 

            In the stars they moved, floating and flying throughout the strange universe they had created in their minds. They could know everything, they would know everything, and they knew everything. And they all felt it, the three of them, all at the same time. Each could see the minds of the others, sharing the journey as they floated along and absorbed all they could. Everything was peaceful as they hung there, suspended in their cosmos, celestial bodies uncovering the hidden truth of the world, of life, of death.

            The realization of death brought on the sudden feeling of falling. As the sensation hit, panicked fingers that no one realized they possessed until that moment reached for others, interlocking swiftly with another hand that seemed to be a thousand miles away from the body no one really felt they owned.

            The feeling of reality slowly crept back: fingers were bound too tight to each other, ankles were crossed and toes were numb, heads were on the floor and no longer in the stars. The three very real bodies now disentangled themselves from each other, attempting to come to terms with the experience. As the three broke apart, they stared at the old baking pan caked with white powder and the colourful straws scattered on the floor beneath the blanket fort they had constructed an hour before.

            “Huh,” Hizaki mumbled, exchanging a worried and confused glance with Yuki. “I’m not sure what just happened.” The drummer simply shrugged, meeting Hizaki’s confused eyes with a troubled frown. Masashi stared at the two of them, his lips upturned in a knowing smile as he spoke.

            “Wanna do it again?” 


	4. Chocolate Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hizaki and Kamijo meet for the first time

            It wasn’t hard to be the first to rise here. In fact, anything earlier than eleven in the morning was probably still considered a hellish hour to be awake, but Hizaki was always beating the odds. He was the only one who seemed to sleep through the whole night here; maybe the only one who managed to sleep at all. In comparison to most of the other regular occupants of this particular shady motel, his drug-addled nights often left him well rested and refreshed, perfectly prepared to step into a drug-addled breakfast the next day.

            Though it seemed well and good being the only one who managed to keep any semblance of a regular sleep schedule, he often found himself acting as errand boy for his junkie friends. Though he had his fair share of slurred and sloppy hours, he was always the only one remotely sane enough to wander across the street to the drug store for snacks. Sure, he had occasionally gotten “lost” or distracted by traffic lights and passing cars, but he always came back to his right mind (or something like it) and returned to his musty little room and his fucked up friends.

            In fact, that was just where he was headed now. Crossing the near empty parking lot dotted with run down vehicles of all sizes, he headed towards a building most people would instantly want to run from: a three story motel in a less than savory area of town. You could have probably called it white, though it wasn’t anywhere near the colour it must have been in the past. The stucco was chipped off in too many places to count, resulting in ugly blotches of exposed brown wire mesh that no one had bothered to fill back in. The trim around the tiny, heavily curtained windows and the balcony railings on the two top floors was a noxious green colour, like something that could be found on a pair of scrubs. The paint on those, of course, was also chipping away, rusty metal and half-rotted wood being left bare.

            The rooms weren’t much better, either. Despite spending nearly every weekend here for the past several months, Hizaki could imagine many ways those cramped little spaces could be improved. The mattresses were hard, the bedding was scratchy (and probably contained things he didn’t want to know about) and the wallpaper was absolutely atrocious. Combine the horrid décor with the deeply infused scent of smoke and alcohol and you had Hizaki’s cheap weekend retreat.

            He reached the precarious metal staircase on the side of the building, dragging his hard earned bag of goods as he sluggishly ascended to the third floor. The top floor was his favourite place to room, as he could stand outside against the railing and take in the fantastic view of the epic nothingness that surrounded this hellhole. Much to his surprise, it seemed someone else had the same idea this morning.

            A man stood further down the walkway, leaning up against the vomit-green railing with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, staring intently out at the unknown. Hizaki didn’t need to get any nearer to realize that this guy was strung out on something, his hands fidgeting with each other on top of the metal railing while he tapped his bare feet against the uneven cement. Hizaki took several steps closer and the man’s gaze was instantly drawn to him, eyes wide with what seemed like fear, his mouth opening almost just enough to let his burnt down cigarette tumble out.

            Normally, Hizaki would have ignored someone like this, but this was different. This one was rather pretty. Despite the circles under his eyes and the general spaced out look on his face, Hizaki could tell he must have been gorgeous on any other day. The lips holding that cigarette were slightly pink and wonderfully sumptuous, sitting atop a sharp jawline. One of his deep brown eyes was covered by drooping locks of bleached blond hair, which stuck out at odd angles atop his head. 

            “Good morning,” Hizaki said amiably as he approached, waving his hand in a friendly gesture. “How was your night?”

            “Um,” the other replied, hastily removing the cigarette from his mouth as his eyes darted around suspiciously. It was right of him to be nervous; after all, being approached by strangers was not always a good thing in their kind of social circles.

            All Hizaki had to do was pretend not to be a stranger.

            “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked with a laugh, eliciting a confused headshake from the other man. “It’s ok, you were pretty far gone. We met yesterday.”

            No one around here ever remembered where they were or what they had done the night before, including this stranger. He seemed to be considering it, mulling over the events of the last several hours as he chewed softly on his bottom lip in concentration. Arriving at no evidence to the contrary, he simply gave Hizaki a brief nod before replacing the cigarette in his mouth and averting his gaze to the parking lot below.

            “I’m Hizaki, by the way. I’m pretty bad with names, so….”

            “Oh, it’s Kamijo.”

            “Right.”

            A silence passed over the new (or old) acquaintances as Hizaki watched Kamijo take a puff of his cigarette and exhale into the morning light. It was clear he wasn’t in much of a mood to talk and this should have been Hizaki’s cue to leave, but he simply wouldn’t budge. He was determined to win this pretty boy over.

            “So, what are you doing up so early?” he asked with a smile. Much to his surprise, the other let out a laugh, taking another puff of his cigarette before responding.

            “I haven’t slept,” he answered with a smirk, “not for a while. It’s getting to me.”

            “Coming down, huh?” Hizaki said, shuffling a little closer and leaning on his elbows on the questionably stable railing. Kamijo leaned in the opposite direction, clearly unnerved by the stranger’s closeness. “I can give you something to help.”

“Um, like what?” Kamijo asked somewhat hesitantly, obviously not too eager to trust the other man.

Hizaki decided to ignore his new friend’s discomfort and began to dig through his pockets, unable to remember which one he had left his cigarette case in. He eventually pulled it out of the back pocket of his jeans with a bit of effort and tossed it to Kamijo, who was caught off guard by the projectile and dropped his cigarette in the process of catching it.

Hizaki continued to search through the plastic bag he was holding as Kamijo popped open the cigarette case, revealing the row of rolled up white papers lining the inside. He plucked one out and pocketed it with a smirk, shutting the case with his free hand. Almost too quickly for his exhausted mind to notice, Hizaki reached over and swiped the case out of his hands, replacing it with a little carton of chocolate milk.

            “You can have that, too,” Hizaki said, nodding his head proudly as he smiled at the milk carton. Kamijo’s gaze faltered between the milk and Hizaki, unsure of how the dairy product was supposed to help him in this predicament.

            “Chocolate milk is good,” was all Hizaki would offer on the subject. Evidently, it was all Kamijo needed. He shrugged off his earlier unease and smiled at the milk carton, flashing a brief toothy grin in Hizaki’s direction.

            Hizaki smirked back, satisfied at how easy this one had turned out to be. How far it would go, he didn’t know and couldn’t predict, but it was always good to add another pretty boy to his arsenal.

            Especially one who was so easy to fool.

            Hizaki flipped his long blonde hair over one shoulder, daring to inch even closer to Kamijo in the process. This time, though, the other blonde didn’t shrink away. He, too, leaned forward slightly, the elbows of the two former strangers touching briefly as they sat atop the flaky railing.

            “Hey, do you wanna - ” Hizaki began with a smirk before being loudly interrupted by a loud bang coming from the room the two were standing in front of. Both blondes turned to face the little window, watching the cheap curtains sway in the aftermath of whatever had occurred.

            “I have to go,” Kamijo said hurriedly, all his previous apprehension returning at that very moment. Hizaki stayed silent as he puzzled over what could have been happening. His new pretty boy must have had someone else to take care of… what a shame.

            Kamijo stared hard at the flimsy door for a moment longer, biting his lip in obvious anguish and looking absolutely irresistible. Just as Hizaki was about to comment on that fact, Kamijo hastily pulled the milk carton tightly to his chest and made his way towards the dreaded door.

            “Thanks for the uh… milk,” Kamijo mumbled, avoiding eye contact with Hizaki as his free hand fumbled for the dirty doorknob. “I’ll see you around.”

            Hizaki simply stood at his place against the railing and muttered a quick goodbye, frowning slightly at the puke green door Kamijo had just disappeared into. What was so important in that room? Someone else? Someone more important than him?

            Hizaki shook his head slightly and brushed the thoughts aside, as they were completely preposterous. There was no use in imaging the others; he would have his way no matter what. He knew how to make sure of that.

            Besides, Kamijo would come back, he was confident of that. Even though his pretty boy’s tweaker paranoia would force him to play the waiting game, he smirked to himself in satisfaction. This one would be worth it.

            After all, he appreciated chocolate milk.    


	5. Juice

       Teru was still. Absolutely still. He could not move ever again, you see, for he had turned into a glass of orange juice.

            He could no longer remember his human life; he was and had always been orange juice. There was nothing left for him to think about except staying upright and making sure that the precious contents of his glass would not be spilled by any type of movement. He furiously ignored the urge to sit even though he had been standing against the living room wall for approximately 45 minutes, every muscle in his body completely tense.

            He had been so still that Masashi hadn’t realized that Teru was even in the room anymore. Granted, he had been lying on the floor and watching the ceiling with extreme interest for the past hour, but he finally realized his friend wasn’t there when he turned over in order to attempt to force Teru to play with his cat for the next six hours.

            “Where are you?” Masashi asked to the seemingly empty room, sitting up and glancing around behind him. The simple movement nearly caused him to fall flat on his face, but he used all the strength and the little coordination he had to keep himself upright.

            The large, confused man made several more sounds that could have almost been speech, swaying with much difficulty so he was facing front once more. His wandering eyes finally landed on Teru, standing still against the wall with a blank expression on his face.

            “What,” was the only coherent word Masashi managed to get out, fumbling to get to his feet. The first ten attempts were unsuccessful so he opted to do some sort of half crawl, half drag-my-dead-limbs to the spot where Teru was standing.

            Once he was there, he wasn’t sure what to do. He attempted to speak, but the words came out like nonsense. Even so, Teru didn’t seem to be very responsive to much of anything. He tried to reach out and grab Teru’s leg to poke him or shake him, but on the way his hand discovered an amazing kinship with the carpet and they had to have a bonding session for nearly thirty minutes before Masashi remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

            Through all of Masashi’s attempts to rouse some sort of response out of Teru, he stood resolute. It was his duty as a glass of orange juice to remain still, as glasses of orange juice could never move. That would just be ridiculous.

            After what seemed like hours upon hours of poking Teru in the leg and attempting to speak to him, Masashi decided to use his best asset: his manly strength. He swung both his arms around Teru’s legs and pulled them right out from under him, sending him plummeting to the floor.

            “OH GOD, MY JUICE!” Teru screamed as he hit the ground, flailing in utter panic that his glass was broken and his precious orange juice had been spilled.

            “Your what?” Masashi asked with a laugh, still lying on the floor and seemingly unable to get up.

            “I’m a glass of orange juice and you spilled me everywhere!” Teru shrieked, pouncing on Masashi and preparing to drown him in orange juice.

            “But you’re not a glass of juice,” Masashi explained flatly, barely phased by Teru’s sudden violent, juicy actions. He paused for a moment, pondering what Masashi had said.

            “Huh,” he sighed, a confused look on his face as he clambered off Masashi’s delicious manly body and back onto the carpeted floor, pondering what the bassist had said. He wasn’t a glass of juice? Was it possible? Indeed, he had moved. He saw no juice on the floor, only sparkly rainbows, which was completely normal. Glasses of juice probably didn’t even know what rainbows were.

            Teru smiled to himself as he realized that he wasn’t a glass of juice. Not being juice was probably the best thing that had happened to him all day. However, now that he had ruled out juice, he had many more questions.

            “If I’m not juice, then what am I?” Teru pondered, giving Masashi a cold hard stare. Masashi simply stared back, slowly morphing into a cat that began to dance a samba. 

 


End file.
